


Slush

by yeaka



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 07:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11248902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Dragons and snow don’t mix.





	Slush

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “Winter” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158937866370/fic-bingo).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Even in autumn when he first joined their ranks, Volga never trained with Zelda’s soldiers—they march like little, mindless ants, row after row performing the exact same configurations. It’s nothing like a _real_ battle. Cia’s troops trained in endless chaos, and that, at least, had more truth in it, if a lot more casualties. With higher stakes came higher yield. Volga just watches the soldiers dance from afar, sneering right past them.

In truth, it’s more the weather he’s mad at than them, the season: _winter_. It isn’t just the troops that’ve become monotonous, but the courtyard they train in, the bricks beyond, and all the lands on the other side of the white-slicked grey walls. _Everything_ is dusted white. It’s pale and cold: nothing like the world he’s used to. His caves were never _cold_.

They were bright, vivid, lush—full of life and energy. He never had to contend with the depressing dampness of snow. He can melt it away, of course, and has, in the center of the courtyard and the little patch where he stands, but it left giant puddles in its wake. He tried to evaporate that in the heat of his steam, but the air’s too damp and came right back down. The snow comes right back down. The snowfall’s been on and off all morning, and every time it’s on again, he goes into a fevered fire spree.

Another soldier slips and falls. She takes down two others on either side of her, and Impa calls the drill to an end, marching through to right her. Volga watches with a little snort. Serves them right for trying to be so organized in an unorganized world. They’re all in worse shape than him, he’s sure, but they don’t show it, don’t shiver and shake like he is, even though they haven’t got the full body armour he always wears. Maybe it’s just because they’re working out that they’ve sweat past the icy air. He still doesn’t want to join them. He bears his shaking and increases his scowls for it.

While Impa rights her lines, the last one in the corner shuffles his feet, turning back to look where none of the others dare. Volga catches Link’s piercing blue eyes and quickly looks away. The last thing he needs is Link thinking he came out here just to watch Link, which he most certainly did _not_. Just because Link’s a graceful, alluring sight to behold in any weather doesn’t mean Volga’s willing to suffer for a mere glimpse of him. Volga picks a new patch of snow to glare at and wonders how much energy it would take to burn the whole drift down. 

He can hear the light footfalls of one of the soldiers coming closer, and he knows it’s Link, the one mortal in this castle not afraid of him. Sure enough, Link comes to stand right before him, and Volga can’t pretend not to notice any longer. He meets Link with a small grunt of acknowledgement that Link doesn’t return. 

Link slowly untwists the blue scarf from his throat and lifts up on his toes, tossing it deftly across Volga’s broader shoulders. Link pulls it in, looping it over Volga’s chest, and tugs it lightly, then pats Volga’s armour with a friendly little smile. 

As Link turns and strolls back to his training, Volga ducks his head. He’s grateful the helmet hides his blush. He isn’t that much warmer. 

But he clutches one end of the treasured scarf, and he supposes he does hate winter slightly less.


End file.
